


The One That Got Away

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Goodbye to Kimilia, bye felicia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Emilia is the one that got away and she's proud of it.
Relationships: Emilia Clarke/Kit Harington
Comments: 54
Kudos: 25





	The One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

> Bye Felicia....or Kit in this instance.
> 
> I am officially done with him. Wish him the best but he's a hypocritical dick in my opinion and I have no interest in his future projects. He does one good thing with Criminal and two weeks later it's all about Red and her projects and her pregnancy. He does a good thing with Gunpowder and weeks later it is all about Red and the engagement. He clearly has no self respect.
> 
> Long live Emilia Clarke the true Queen.

Ted's barking was starting to annoy her, coupled with the banging on her back door to the garden, which didn't help. Her headache had started this morning when she woke up, her publicist calling her to break the news. She didn't think much of it beyond "Good for them" and hung up, appreciative of the head's up. She went back to sleep, cuddled around her beau of the moment-- he had terrible breath and kicked like a bitch, but he certainly never broke her heart the way others in his gender did. 

"Oi!" she shouted to Ted, who was now scratching at the back door. "Knock it off, eh?"

Her phone joined the cacophony. So much for listening to some music, she thought, yanking the airpods from her ears and tossing them onto the mess of her kitchen island. If she couldn't listen to music to stop the madness maybe she could Hoover. She tugged it free of the kitchen, now hearing shouting with the door and the dog and the phone.

"Millie open up!"

Fuck you, she answered in her head. Bloody wanker. Bloody fucking buggering wanker. Bloody fucking buggering wanker who breaks my heart every chance he gets. Bloody fuckering buggering wanker who I never should have believed in and each time I did I fucked up. Fucking Christ, she cursed, today really fucking sucked. 

Charlie got engaged; bless that poor Lily, she deserved it, but then she knew what she was getting when she started dating the arshehole. She was not angry it so much as relieved, but it still churned old feelings and resentment. Emotions she tried to keep at bay and had spent over a year coming to feel and understand. He was a terrible mistake and she was grateful to have gotten out when she did, before he hurt her too much. Before there was an engagement ring in the mix or heaven forbid a child. 

Baby news was the current cause of her distress. She was furious. "Couldn't bloody tell me? Had to take out an ad in the bloody Times?" she mumbled to herself, shoving the Hoover hard against the edge of her pink couch, dislodging it a bit. 

"Millie open this bloody door or I swear to Christ I will call the police and say you are dead in there!"

Well that did it. She roared, furious, and cut the Hoover motor. It fell hard onto the floor and she stalked to the door. She almost ripped it clear from the hinges, glaring at him. "You fucking wouldn't!" She got a good look at him on her doorstep. He looked miserable. Good, she thought. She refused to let his mopey look distract her from the righteous indignation she felt at that moment. 

She held her finger up, seething. All fury bubbling inside of her. "get off my property Kit and give me my fucking key back, you do not get to be here!" 

He tried to step towards her. "Please, let me just...explain."

"Explain?" She laughed. Ted barked, agreeing with her. She looked around. Her backyard was shielded by trees from neighbors, but his yammering might have brought them out. She grabbed his wrist, yanking him into her kitchen. That was as far as she would let him. She slammed the door behind her and whirled. "Let's explain this Kit, shall we?" She ticked off her fingers. "I have been fucking you for better part of ten years even after you got married, even after you fucked all of Brazil and Russia's Next Top Model, and even after my bloody fucking brain stuff!" 

She was roaring and pleased to see him shrink. "And all the time you smiled with her you did your bloody pap walks you gave money to her bloody family to keep them in their castles and all the time you did anything good she jumped on it to make herself look better!" She took a deep breath. "And twice, twice I bloody fucking thought you would nut up and you would leave the skinny bitch, my _best friend_." She put that in quotes, laughing again. He hung his head. "Oh yes, let's not forget I did your fucking PR and ran all around saying how we were best friends and we went to India and we smiled and laughed and pretended that I wasn't fucking your brains out all over Los Angeles while she was in "prior commitments"." She snorted.

"Millie," he tried.

She cut him off. "And then, and then you get back together with her, you go to the Globes, fine, wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic Kit. I am happy for you. I think perhaps, just maybe, maybe you've changed. Maybe you will make a bloody decision for yourself and it isn't all fake." She wanted to cry. Now the emotion swelled inside of her and she choked, hot tears in her eyes. "And you come to me, you call me, and you say that you cannot stay with her, because it's overwhelming and you love me and you think, you think maybe this lockdown will do it, you finally have seen the light." She wiped her eyes quickly, so he wouldn't see, as he pushed his hand through his hair, groaning. "And then you disappear on me. No calls, no texts, and I think okay maybe you're back to your ways. I can move on. Finally, fucking finally, I can move on."

She grabbed her iPad, sitting on the table, and swung it to him, the last image on the screen of her bloody black and white pregnancy shot and she wanted to cry again. "And then I see this."

He didn't look at it. He set it down on the table. "Emilia...I..."

"You fucked her, you knocked her up, and you couldn't bloody tell me." She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring. She was furious on behalf of herself, on behalf of the woman she bloody hated, and on behalf of the unborn baby whose father was a fucking broken piece of shit, looing ready to collapse into the floor. How many hours had she wasted on this man? Too many to count. Too many nights spent crying and fighting and wondering if it was _her_ fault. It never was. It was never her fault. 

She just happened to fall in love with a man with more insecurities and issues than could fill the Atlantic fucking Ocean. 

And she was done.

She waited a moment, her breathing still heavy. She closed her eyes and ground her teeth. "I want you to do something for me Kit."

"Anything," he whispered.

"I want you to make this work." She opened her eyes and fixed them on his watery, tired ones. She cocked her head. "I asked you several times to wait for me and you couldn't do that. You couldn't bloody handle it. Now you are married, and you are going to be a father. If you truly love her as you say you do, as it seems you do to everyone in the world but me, you will make this work." She ticked off her fingers again. "You will return to your wife. You will adhere to your marriage vows. You will live in your bloody quaint little fucking cottage and look down your nose at us peasants the way it seems like you do in every fucking interview you two give. You will raise your blood blooded baby with its royal blood and castles and fucking shite, and you will love that child." She hiccupped. "And you will not, you will fucking _never_ contact me again for anything other than 'hello how are you Emilia I hope you are well' and 'Happy bloody Christmas.' You will never mention me in interviews, you will never come crawling to my door drunk, and you will certainly never fuck over your pregnant wife again, I don't care how much she might annoy you." 

She took another breath. It felt good. To release this from her chest. "And you will be the father you claim you wanted to be. I don't care if this was planned and you didn't tell me. I don't care if she trapped you. I don't bloody fucking care. There is a child now. A child you fathered with her and you are tied to her for the rest of your lives. You will go to all the therapy in the world. I don't care. You will make this work and I will not be part of it ever again." 

He scrubbed his face with his hands, almost crying again. "I don't...I don't..." he began, but he couldn't finish it. 

Sometimes she suspected he didn't know how to do anything. "You married her Kit," she laughed. She cocked her head, nodding, sad. "Yes you did. You married her and you bought a home with her and you take pap walks with her and you talk all about her and you love her, I know you do. In some twisted fucking weird way you both are made for each other She can do whatever she wants with you and you let it happen because you can't help it. Maybe that's why it never worked with us." She smiled again. "I'm Chanel, Kit. And she's Primark. Let's face it. I don't have time to deal with your shite and time is all she has in the world. Give her the baby, raise the baby, I don't fucking care. Just don't call me again."

She walked to the door and pulled it open, stepping aside. She blinked the tears away. He shuffled to the door; shoulders hunched. He lifted his head again, peering at her, crying. "I love you," he whispered.

"Not enough," she replied. She set her jaw. She couldn't be swayed. She always had before. She pointed to the backyard. "You know..." She sighed hard, blinking hard. She laughed. "I don't think I would be as angry as I am if you had just told me. I had to find out from my publicist and from the bloody news. You are weak Kit and she exploits it and you let her. I hope for your child's sake it takes after her, because if it becomes you well..." She shrugged and landed the kill shot. "The world doesn't need another fucked up neurotic British aristocrat who can't seem to understand he isn't the only one in this world."

He stared at her a moment, mouth falling. She hated him. She loved him. He nodded curtly. "Goodbye then," he laughed. 

She smirked. "Goodbye Kit." They would see each other again. They lived in the same neighborhood. They would see each other at future events no doubt. everyone would think they were best friends. She would laugh about it in interviews and she would claim how happy she was and supportive she was for him. 

And in her house with Gommie and Lola and David and Will and George she would cry in their arms and mope for a brief moment, for the life she might have had. She would seethe at the irritated looks he gave paparazzi like he didn't call them. Laugh at the hypocrisy of being all 'private' while also allowing them to photograph him at his house. You could not have it both ways. The world did not work that way.

She learned it the hard way.

Months later she would see the pap photos of them with the pram and the dog, walking around Islington like the happy little family. Once again, he would not be smiling but his wife would be waving her hands and giving her interviews talking and referencing their country home and how loving it was to raise a child away from the hustle and bustle of London, the quaint upper crust countryside childhood she had now the same for her child. 

She dated, certainly, some actors here and there. A couple assistant directors. 

At a Game of Thrones reunion event five years later they took photos, laughing and grinning, and she was glad he looked healthy and happy, he was showing photos of his son to David and Dan, and she pretended nothing mattered. She went to the bar later to collect a drink for herself and Nath, when he came up and cornered her. 

"Hi," he said.

She glanced sideways. "Hello."

"Um...where's Henry?"

"Publicity for James Bond." She turned and pinned her hand to her hip, waiting for him to say something. She arched a brow, mindful of the cameras all around. The people at the party who would love to sell this to any magazine. She grinned. "Where's your wife?"

He sighed. "Home....with..." he trailed off. He cleared his throat. "Congratulations. Meant to say so."

"Thank you." The Oscar had been hard won. She thought it fitting that she did not get an Emmy in ten years of playing Daenerys with her heart and soul, almost dying in the process twice, but she got acting's top honor. It did not mean as much to her as the appraisals from her peers, the endless gratitude she received from men and women she admired her entire life. 

He shifted on his feet again. "I wanted to tell you something."

She didn't want to hear it. "Goodbye Kit, Nat is waiting for me."

"wait...I..." He lowered his voice, leaning towards her, quiet. "She isn't here because...we're separating."

How many times had he said that before? She heard it at least four times during the two years he'd been married before the baby came along and she ceased all contact with him. She chuckled. "That's unfortunate. You two were made for each other." Her heart ached for the child, who did not deserve such fucked up parents. She shook her head briefly and leaned in closer, whispering. "You think that's going to get into my knickers Kit, you've got another thing coming, unlike you I don't cheat."

It was hypocritical of her. To remember the pain of Seth and Charlie cheating on her, uncovering their tawdry dalliances with lesser women. They had her and they went elsewhere? She thought she was less than. She looked in the mirror and wondered if she was too fat, too brunette, too British...but no, she was too Emilia. 

And too fucking bad for them.

Even the pain of knowing what she was doing to the other woman didn't stop her when it came to him. Maybe it was different because she knew what she was getting into when she married him. When she pinned him down in Iceland and saw an easy mark and there you had it. It worked out well for her. She had that Game of Thrones money for the rest of her bloody life, her family had its next laird or whatever the fuck and she could stay in the Tudor mansion in the country and raise their future neurotic who didn't deserve any of this.

Thankfully Richard saw her and saved the day. "Millie!" he called, grabbing her elbow. "Come, you haven't met Lily, have you? She's my date tonight." He shot Kit a warning look. They might be friends, might still be doing the Eternals and MCU circuit filming and publicity together, but she also knew that he would say something if need be. None of them were strangers to the mess that was Christopher Catesby Harington.

She collected the drinks, shot him a look and smiled. "Later Kit. Tell Rose I said hello and Henry passes on his best wishes to you both." That was a lie. Henry could have given a shit about him. All he did was ask if he was a better lay than 'the tiny Englishman.' She said yes, because he was, but it was different. 

It was different because with Henry she was the only woman; she wasn’t the side piece, the one he loved but couldn’t seem to figure out how to be with, whatever his problems. She paused, halfway back to the booth, arm-in-arm with Robb and stopped. “Hold on,” she said and turned around, striding back to Kit. 

He was looking at his phone. She pushed it out of his hand, and he looked up at her, surprised. “Emilia,” he started.

“I will say this once.” She laughed. It was freeing to get off her chest. “It has been five years and I wondered what I would say to you again and all I can say Kit is…” she laughed again and gestured to her. “I never thought I would be the one to get away. I thought I would mourn the ones that got away from me. You were never mine, but I was yours and I hope you think about that for the rest of your life. I hope you know that I will not think of you.” 

She patted his cheek and walked away, leaving him there, her heart racing and palms sweating. She wanted to cry now. It hurt so terribly to have to do that and to destroy a friendship she loved and relied upon for so long. The movies and books were always right that you could never stay friends with someone you fucked. 

Richard watched her the entire night and when they went home together as he was staying at her house while he was in town, he patted her hand and squeezed hard. “I am proud of you.”

“Growth,” she said. “Took me long enough.” 

“For what it is worth Millie, if I fucked you, I would never have let you go.”

She laughed, kissing his cheek. “I love you darling.”

“I love you too,” he teased. 

That night she went to sleep and slept peacefully for one of the first times in years. A few weeks later Henry sent her a text with an article. _Funny little bloke, huh? Didn’t you say he was leaving her?_

She opened the article and laughed. “Congratulations,” she said to the image of him on the screen, miserably at his wife’s side at one of the MCU movie premieres from the previous year. _Baby #2 On the Way!_ the article shouted to the world. She knew it was too good to be true. 

And was so fucking glad she hadn’t wasted her time on him and she never would again.


End file.
